Gaze
by TheQueenofBooks1000
Summary: What if Lady Catherine de Bourgh never went to Longbourn? What would have happened to Darcy and Elizabeth? Oneshot.


**Oneshot. What if Lady Catherine never went to Longbourn? What would have happened?**

**Well, maybe Lady Catherine's more essential than we thought (despite her being a pain in the ass).**

**DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN PRIDE AND PREJUDICE.**

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The butler left the sitting room.

The silence carried on, and the two occupants of the room contented themselves by simply looking at each other; his gaze filled with unrestrained yearning, and hers with wariness. Yet their countenances had a similar, prominent emotion: regret.

She spoke first, and dipped into a shallow curtsy, restricted by the protrusion in her midsection. "Mr. Darcy."

The gentleman bowed. "Mrs. Worsley."

Elizabeth smiled faintly and invited him to sit down, before offering him some refreshments. He accepted the cup of tea gratefully, and after pleasantries were exchanged, lapsed into silence. Mr. Darcy stared blankly at his cup, vividly aware of her presence. It was shrouding him like a fire in the middle of a dead winter, comforting him yet paining him at the same time. Her delightful lavender scent filled the room, swirling with the minty essence of his tea. Her face was still the handsomest he had seen, her features still entrancing, most especially the familiar sparkle in her dark eyes.

He took a sip of his tea, closing his eyes as the burning liquid washed his throat, not knowing that while he was doing so, the pair of fine eyes that had been observing him most acutely had allowed a trace of love and hopeless longing to pass through.

When he faced her once more, she took care to keep her face perfectly blank, a mask of indifference that was only betrayed by a bright shine in her eyes. She willed herself not to crack, not to shed a tear, especially not in _his _presence.

His voice was grave when he spoke again. "How long has it been?"

"Some twelve years, I believe."

"It _does _seem longer, does it not?"

Elizabeth regarded him cautiously. "Indeed," she agreed, "things have been rather slow in the four years that I have taken up residence here."

They simultaneously took a gulp of tea.

"I see. Is your family in good health?" He allowed his gaze to wander at her rounded belly.

"My husband is in trade," she gestured about as to indicate the simplicity of the room, "and is seldom at home. My son is presently with my sister in Netherfield. Jane and Charles expressed their wishes of spending more time with their dearest nephew." She paused and, after speaking idly of Kitty's and Mary's lives, added, "The Wickhams are living rather comfortably. If _Lydia _only knew to whom she owed her fortune."

She had done it. She held her breath and stared at him anxiously.

His brow shot up in surprise, and he looked at her with some incredulity for a time. She returned his gaze steadily, though her breath caught when she saw a limitless amount of intensity in his eyes.

"Yes," said he, "The militia prospers in this time of the year, I believe. I am quite frankly surprised that Wickham remained in his station. A sense of duty was never one of his strengths in character."

Elizabeth, who was struggling not to appear too disappointed, merely nodded and poured herself another cup. She had, of course, known of his involvement with Lydia's elopement, and strongly suspected that additionally, he was the means of uniting Mr. Bingley with her beloved sister Jane. She bitterly remembered the days when she had ran at the slightest sound of hooves, eagerly expecting to see his intimidating person upon his steed. She even asked Bingley several times if he knew of his friend's whereabouts, only to be disappointed, for he was mostly uncertain, except to state that he was likely at Pemberley.

Bingley had invited him to the wedding, but he was unable to come, though he did send his best regards to the new Mrs. Bingley, along with some jewelry as a wedding gift. She recalled the jealousy she felt (towards her own dear _sister, _no less!), when Jane graciously accepted the jewelry, although completely aware that it was only an act of friendship on his part, or perhaps a peace offering to mend the breach that he had caused. She had waited years and years for him, until she was forced to marry, lest she be branded a spinster. She did not want to trespass on the hospitality of her sisters upon her father's passing, after all.

She chose the most agreeable of her admittedly few suitors. Mr. Worsley was six and twenty years her senior, reserved, and only smiled when in particularly high spirits, which was rather rare.

Elizabeth denied that she married him due to his slight similarities with a different gentleman, although deep down, she knew that it was the truth. If only he had not turned out to be completely dull and somewhat cold, if only his proposal was not as passionless as a mere discussion of the weather, unlike a proposal she received years before. If only...

"Pray, is your husband in good health?"

"He is in excellent health, sir." _I would hardly know, since he barely even acknowledges my presence, let alone speak to me._

"How is Miss Darcy?" she inquired, thinking of her young, fair-haired friend that reminded her so much of her own Jane. She wondered what it was like to have Georgiana for a sister.

"She married a Mr. Aldridge a few years back. Thankfully, theirs was a marriage of affection."

Elizabeth swallowed. She turned her head away and asked, "And how is Mrs. Darcy?"

"There has been no Mrs. Darcy since the passing of my mother. I had never married, and it is decided that Georgiana's heir will inherit Pemberley."

"I am sorry to hear that. One can find many joys in marriage. Children, for instance, are a delight." She placed her hand on her stomach._  
_

He smiled sardonically. "Perhaps. But only if one is fortunate enough to win the hand of their desired partner." He finished the last of his tea hastily and stood. "I must take my leave. I thank you for your hospitality. Good day, Mrs. Worsley." He bowed.

He was near the door when she called out, in a trembling voice:

"Why did you do it?"

He turned, uncertain of her meaning. "Pardon?"

"Why did you do it?" she repeated. "Why did you save my sister's reputation? Why did you reunite Jane and Mr. Bingley? And why..." She closed her eyes, that he might not witness her anguish. "Why did you not return to me—to Hertfordshire? To Jane's wedding—you did not even attend mine, though I had issued you an invitation, you had never answered."

Darcy froze, his hand hovering over the door knob. He could only look disbelievingly at the woman in front of him, before he whispered, "Do you mean to tell me that you actually wished for my presence?"

"I did," Elizabeth cried. "My feelings...they—after what you have done for Lydia—"

"I know not how you had come to posses this knowledge, but it is of little importance. That feeling you speak of, madam, is called gratitude. If that is the only—"

"There is more to it than that!" She was beginning to feel angry. She did not withdraw eye contact and repeated his words, in a shaking voice, "But it is of little importance."

Despair was evident on his face. He looked at her mournfully, before closing his eyes, and he breathed, "Oh, Lord...what have we done?"

They gazed at each other, the person that they loved most in the world. That can never be theirs.

Elizabeth looked so miserable, and Darcy had to fight the impulse to throw his arms around her and never let her go, carrying her off to the sunset, away from the obstacles in their lives.

She was amazed at the look of tenderness in his eyes. The question that haunted her for years was finally answered; he loved her still. She was sure of that now. And she loved him, too, with all her heart and soul, with every fiber of her being. She took a step towards him. She was ready to rush to his arms when a kick brought her back to reality.

She glanced down, and gingerly placed a comforting hand on her stomach. She could hold the tears back no longer, but she could still remain strong.

She stepped away from him and curtsied formally, and a bit stiffly. "Good day, Mr. Darcy."

"Elizabeth..." he whispered. He ran his fingers through his hair, and tried to regain his composure. Finally, he schooled his features to an indifferent expression and said, "Good day Mrs. Worsley. Please accept my best wishes for your health and happiness."

With a last look, a look shared only between lovers, he turned and quit the room.

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**I bet you're all missing the *copies Mr. Collins's voice* formidable Lady Catherine de Bourgh right now, huh? Please review and tell me what you think! :)**


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